Shalott
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: The tragic tale of The Lady of Shalott, in the canon of the film. One shot, written on a whim. LancelotElaine, one-sided as always...or was it?


Just a bit of tragedy, while I await further inspiration on White Hawk.... no plot connections between the two. I'm sure this must have been done before, but not by me lol.

This ficlet blends my love for the film's fresh and interesting take on the story of King Arthur, Marion Zimmer Bradley's tales of Avalon, the magic of classic French Arthurian Legend, Alfred Lord Tennyson's beautiful poetry and John William Waterhouse's vivid paintings and imagery. And so, I own almost none of this, save my obsessive adoration for all the aforementioned artists, hehe.

The **entire** poem may not be here (mostly due to verses and verses that describe the wonder that is Lancelot, lol), but almost all of it is. Loreena McKennitt set the poem to music, it's a lovely song, go find it!

All these things considered, I give you how the filmmakers might have handled The Lady of Shalott...  
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_On either side the river lie  
Long fields of barley and of rye,  
That clothe the world and meet the sky;  
And through the field the road run by  
To many-tower'd Camelot;  
And up and down the people go,  
Gazing where the lilies blow  
Round an island there below,  
The island of Shalott. _

_Willows whiten, aspens quiver,  
Little breezes dusk and shiver,  
Through the wave that runs for ever  
By the island in the river  
Flowing down to Camelot.  
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,  
Overlook a space of flowers,  
And the silent isle embowers  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_By the margin, willow veil'd,  
Slide the heavy barges trail'd  
By slow horses; and unhail'd  
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd  
Skimming down to Camelot:  
But who hath seen her wave her hand?  
Or at the casement seen her stand?  
Or is she known in all the land,  
The Lady of Shalott? _

_Only reapers, reaping early,  
In among the bearded barley  
Hear a song that echoes cheerily  
From the river winding clearly;  
Down to tower'd Camelot;  
And by the moon the reaper weary,  
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,  
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy  
The Lady of Shalott." _

_There she weaves by night and day,  
A magic web with colours gay.  
She has heard a whisper say,  
A curse is on her if she stay,  
To look down to Camelot.  
She knows not what the curse may be,  
And so she weaveth steadily,  
And little other care hath she,  
The Lady of Shalott. _

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Elaine was born on the shores of the Holy Lake, the daughter of a wealthy Roman merchant who'd settled with his money in the untamed wilds of Britain beyond the wall, and a Woad woman, who'd once been a priestess in Avalon. They had built their home of stone, a large estate in the green hills. On three sides trees, and then the merchant's fields, local people paid well to tend the crops, surrounded it. The third side there was the lake, ever misty and cool, willows hanging their branches to dip into the stilled waters, swans swimming silently among them. And in the courtyard of the big place, there was a garden, filled with all manner of trees and flowers that called Britain their home. Elaine's mother named the very secluded estate Shalott.

Though the home was near to a well-used road, they got few visitors, most travelers hurrying on their way towards the wall, and the Roman fortress beyond. Few of these travelers though could resist stopping a moment, to glimpse the stone bowers through the misty trees, rising above the far-off lake. In the summertime, one could see the hint of roses, morning glory, clover, lilies and chicory twining about the battlements, or up the water banks, and perhaps, if one were lucky, the strawberry blonde tresses of the closely guarded young maid who dwelt there.

Elaine's days were filled with her flowers, or her spinning, tutored patiently by her skilled mother, Alis. Elaine found much joy in these things, and in learning the magic of her mother, the subtle magic of Avalon. Alis taught her daughter the skill of medicines, and even, as she grew old, how to use the sight that was slowly coming to her. It was Alis' wish that her daughter go to Avalon, but her husband would have none of it, though he had nothing against the Isle. It was his wish that Elaine would perhaps go to Viroconium and find a husband, but that option filled Alis with dread...  
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_And moving through a mirror clear  
That hangs before her all the year,  
Shadows of the world appear.  
There she sees the highway near  
Winding down to Camelot;  
There the river eddy whirls,  
And there the surly village churls,  
And the red cloaks of market girls  
Pass onward from Shalott. _

_Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,  
An abbot on an ambling pad,  
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,  
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad  
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;  
And sometimes through the mirror blue  
The knights come riding two and two.  
She hath no loyal Knight and true,  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_But in her web she still delights  
To weave the mirror's magic sights,  
For often through the silent nights  
A funeral, with plumes and lights  
And music, went to Camelot;  
Or when the Moon was overhead,  
Came two young lovers lately wed.  
"I am half sick of shadows," said  
The Lady of Shalott. _

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All of her life, Elaine had been told by her mother of a vision Alis had received while pregnant, of her daughter seeing her true love, and falling to death shortly afterwards. Elaine laughed at this, assuring her mother that it was perhaps just a dream, she was young and spry and carefree. Still, as the age of thirteen, fourteen and fifteen came and went, Elaine longed to see the world outside of her bower walls. She longed to see the true love that was supposedly the harbinger of her doom. But her parents both had a mind to keep her hidden away in Shalott.

Still, life was sweet for Elaine when she was young, and she harbored no resentment toward her parents, spending her time tending her beloved flowers, and standing on the battlements on tiptoe, or wrapping her skirts around her and climbing the garden's trees, peaking down at the far-off road. Sometimes she would read up in the trees, her father owned more books then most people did in those times, as his wealth was great. She liked the tales of Homer best, of the old Roman heroes.

She even had her own little boat that she was allowed to take out on the lake for a space, but not beyond the mists where she could be lost. Elaine loved to set her boat by the banks under the willow branches, staring up at the cloudy sky above, where the birds flew freely.

And when the rain fell she sat in her bower weaving, by a window that gave her the best view of the road. As time went on, her weaving and embroidery took on the scenes and colors and flowers that filled her eyes, filled her dreams. Her world was Shalott, she knew no other, but her heart was restless ...  
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_A bowshot from her bower-eaves,  
He rode between the barley sheaves,  
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,  
And flamed upon the brazen greaves  
Of bold Sir Lancelot.  
A red-cross knight forever kneel'd  
To a lady in his shield,  
That sparkled on the yellow field,  
Beside remote Shalott. _

_All in the blue unclouded weather  
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,  
The helmet and the helmet-feather  
Burn'd like one burning flame together,  
As he rode down to Camelot.  
As often thro' the purple night,  
Below the starry clusters bright,  
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,  
Moves over still Shalott. _

_His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;  
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;  
From underneath his helmet flow'd  
His coal-black curls as on he rode,  
As he rode down to Camelot.  
From the bank and from the river  
He flashed into the crystal mirror,  
"Tirra lirra," by the river  
Sang Sir Lancelot. _

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It was one mild morning, when the birds woke her with their song and Elaine sat at her loom, when she saw him. Rarely did the Sarmation Knights use the main road, and when they did Elaine had watched them closely. Her father didn't say much about them, other then that he wished Rome didn't take such a harsh hand against the Woads, as most of them were peaceful enough, at least to him (the Woads liked her father, he was kind to them, and of course had taken a priestess wife). And so the Knights aroused much curiosity in his daughter, and much inspiration, looking as grand and noble as the heroes of Homer. Usually, there were only one or two of them on the main road; her father said the others would ride in the trees, hidden from view, in case of ambush.

Now, though, there was but one, and Elaine had never seen him before...she hurried to lean out her window, surrounded by the climbing roses and morning glories. Watching him intently as he rode by, she suddenly forgot how to breathe. He was so grand to see, riding by, idly whistling a tune. Twins swords were strapped to his back, and his armor was thick and well used, and impressive. He reminded Elaine of Hercules, or Achilles, his dark curls not quite falling in front of his eyes, his brow noble, he eyes sparkling. His gaze flew to Shalott, as all passerbies did, marveling at the beauty, the grand fields, and the grooves of weeping willows and swimming swans.

Elaine felt her heat thump as his eyes fell on her bower, and he smiled briefly, raising a hand, before riding onward. She felt her feet move beneath her, rushing down the stairs of her bower, her hair trailing behind her, out onto the battlement, to watch as his horse carried him onward to Viroconium. A sigh escaped her lips, and a longing entered her heart for the first time, the longing for another. Her small hands gripped the stone battlement in anxiety, wondering if she would ever see the grand, beautiful knight ever again. In that moment she wanted to leave Shalott forever, to sprout wings like the birds, to sail off into the forbidden mists, to go wherever he was going.

And in the next moment, the Sight suddenly came upon her with all of its power, and she gasped. She saw Shalott being all but invaded by strange faces, another powerful Roman shouting at her father. She saw priests of Rome's Christianity carrying away her mother, carrying away Elaine, and calling them both witches of the Old Religion. She saw Shalott becoming the property of another, who already had a fine estate...Marcus Honorius...she saw her father's blood staining the water...she saw herself escaping the personal guards, pushing off her little boat, onto the lake, toward Avalon...she saw the arrow....  
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_She left the web, she left the loom,  
She made three paces through the room,  
She saw the water-lily bloom,  
She saw the helmet and the plume,  
She look'd down to Camelot.  
Out flew the web and floated wide;  
The mirror crack'd from side to side;  
"The curse is come upon me," cried  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_In the stormy east-wind straining,  
The pale yellow woods were waning,  
The broad stream in his banks complaining.  
Heavily the low sky raining  
Over tower'd Camelot;  
Down she came and found a boat  
Beneath a willow left afloat,  
And around about the prow she wrote  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_And down the river's dim expanse  
Like some bold seer in a trance,  
Seeing all his own mischance --  
With a glassy countenance  
Did she look to Camelot.  
And at the closing of the day  
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;  
The broad stream bore her far away,  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_Lying, robed in snowy white  
That loosely flew to left and right --  
The leaves upon her falling light --  
Thro' the noises of the night,  
She floated down to Camelot:  
And as the boat-head wound along  
The willowy hills and fields among,  
They heard her singing her last song,  
The Lady of Shalott. _

_Heard a carol, mournful, holy,  
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,  
Till her blood was frozen slowly,  
And her eyes were darkened wholly,  
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.  
For ere she reach'd upon the tide  
The first house by the waterside,  
Singing in her song she died,  
The Lady of Shalott. _

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"Arthur," Lancelot paused on the road, motioning toward the stone walls that rose above fields and trees, "That's a good amount of smoke rising from Shalott."

Arthur looked the way his friend pointed, nodding slowly. The other knights did as well, all paused on their road toward the home of Marcus Honorius. "Tiberius might be in trouble," Arthur said at last, "We should have a look."

Tristan cast a quick glance up at the sky, thinking the same thing they all were. Did they have the time to spare on this, their last deed for Rome? But anyone could see, black smoke was rising from the bower windows, from the gardens where flowers hung wilting. They all turned their horses toward the estate.  
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Shalott had been indeed attacked, gutted and burned, only the sturdy fortress-like house remaining. The knights did not know what to make of it, as far as anyone knew Tiberius had been a kind, fair man, with no known enemies. But now his home was in a shambles, and his family most surely slain.

"The Woads liked Tiberius," Lancelot broke the deadly silence of the place, as they walked within. "Yet who else could it have been?"

Arthur shook his head, sighing.  
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Outside, the rain began to fall softly, and the knights searched for any further sign of who had attacked the peaceful estate, but there was none.

Lancelot found his feet taking him down to the grassy lakeshore, under the overhang of willows, where he made a sobering discovery, shouting out to the others. There lie Elaine in her boat, dressed in purest white, fallen leaves scattered upon her snowy gown, her eyes wide open to the branches above, an arrow embedded in her heart. He pulled the boat up onto the shore, the others looking on grimly. Lancelot looked down at the maid of sixteen sadly, reaching down to shut her eyes. As his hand passed over them, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a burning battlefield, of a rent sky above his head, of his spilt blood...

He swallowed and then stood, looking down at her again. Her eyes were now shut, and she looked to be only sleeping, needing just a lover's touch to awake...  
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Under tower and balcony,  
By garden-wall and gallery,  
A gleaming shape she floated by,  
Dead pale between the houses high,  
Silent into Camelot.  
Out upon the wharfs they came,  
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,  
And around the prow they read her name,  
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?  
And in the lighted palace near  
Died the sound of royal cheer;  
And they crossed themselves for fear,  
All the Knights at Camelot;  
But Lancelot mused a little space  
He said, "She has a lovely face;  
God in his mercy lend her grace,  
The Lady of Shalott."  
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End file.
